


Clear My Head

by starcass_miseryna



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Canon Compliant, F/F, Genderbending, Getting Back Together, Heartbreak, Multi, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-College/University, Post-breakup, Rule 63, Semi Is So Done, fem!haikyuu!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2018-10-09 10:41:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10410330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starcass_miseryna/pseuds/starcass_miseryna
Summary: see, what they don’t realize is that when she broke her heart, she broke her own, too.





	1. Because She's Amazing

**Author's Note:**

> bc genderbent hq???
> 
> i'm hella gay and like,,, this fandom lacks enough genderbent fics and i'm self-indulgent so why don't i just do it myself??
> 
> (great idea cass u go *round of applause here*)
> 
> i'm sorry but i hate reading stuff where ushi is this huge evil emotionless being bc have you met the guy-- he reads the fuckin ads in shonen jump and makes farming references like thats Pure™-- so here u go poor emotional heartbroken fem ushi with too many feelings and just dammit tendou (but like: tendou? ushijima? semi n shirabu? hell, the whole of shiratorizawa? the whole of haikyuu!! ? as girls? hOT DAMN THAT'S OVERLOADING MY SIMPLE ONE-TRACK LESBIAN MIND)

  Satori avoids volleyball for a good reason. She doesn’t want to watch games, doesn’t want to hear about teams, doesn’t want to know about it anymore. She wishes she could erase volleyball from her mind, from herself, but it’s not easy. Maybe Satori doesn’t love volleyball anymore, but it’s still etched into her deeply, like the features on granite statues.

  Stone carvings, she muses, only fade after time. And she gives it time.

  It’s been five years now, and Satori thinks that’s enough. So when she finds a ticket for the Japan-China AVC finals in the mail, sent by Semi, presumably, she decides to go.

  It’s not like she has anything better to do.

 

  Satori’s seat is far up in the uppermost wings of the stadium. It’s far in the corner, and the men in front of her sit even taller than her own 181cm, so despite the center court, her vision is off. She relies on the camera crew and the JumboTron hanging from the ceiling to watch as the players are introduced. Satori purposely chose the longest line when she went to buy her food, and she missed the warm-up.

  Her eyes wander around, looking away from the screen and the court, wondering why she decided this was a good idea. Her hands are uncharacteristically shaking, an unwelcome feeling she hasn’t had in five years. She tries to relax, but they don’t still.

  Far below, the Japanese players are lining up, ready to walk onto the court as soon as their names are called. Satori listens to the droning voice of the commentator, as names, both known to her and unknown ring out.

  She doesn’t know what she’s feeling, some bizarre mixture of dread and excitement and nostalgia and worry and curiosity and panic―

  “Number 9, Ushijima Wakatoshi!”

  The stadium rings with cheers.

  Satori watches as the achingly familiar shape steps out onto the court, shaking hands with its coach and manager. The JumboTron lights up with a shot of her, of Ushijima, of _Wakatoshi_ , and Satori doesn’t know what to think.

  It’s so _odd_ , seeing her in a red jersey, to see the 9 stitched on her back instead of the 1 Satori recalls so vividly―

  But when Wakatoshi looks right at the camera, two eyes staring out of the giant screen right at her, she thinks that, for a moment, the past five years haven’t happened, that nothing’s changed.

  That _they_ hadn’t changed.

  But the moment’s fleeting, of course. And the weight Satori has held in her heart since that spring presses down on her again. _Damn you, Eita. Damn you, Shiratorizawa. Damn it all._

Down on the court, a coin is flipped, and she swears that she can hear the _clink_ it makes somehow. The ball is given to the Japanese team, and her heart sinks lower as she sees who it is that will serve.

  Satori definitely hears the whistle and she watches as Wakatoshi throws up the ball, and suddenly it’s as if she’s watching in slow motion.

  The ball, floating somehow in the air―

  And the arm that smashes it with a sound like a bolt of thunder, impossibly fast, impossibly strong, towards the other side of the net.

  But of course, everything about Ushijima Wakatoshi makes the impossible possible.

  It’s a service ace, hitting the libero’s arm with the left-hand spin that catches everyone off-guard. Everyone in her section gets up to cheer loudly, everyone except Satori, who doesn’t jump up with a loud “That’s our miracle girl, Waaaaakatoshi!” or even a simple “Nice serve!”, like she always used to.

  Maybe Satori doesn’t cheer, but she still allows herself the tiniest of grins.

   _Oh, Wakatoshi-chan, you haven’t changed one bit._

 

* * *

 

 

  For Wakatoshi, volleyball has always been the best way to take her mind off of things. Focusing her utmost attention on the game, on her teammates, on breaking through the wall in front of her when she jumps up to spike. For so long, it was just natural to clear her head, of course she couldn’t let anything distract her from winning. Winning was what was important, leaping up to hit the ball over and over again, spiking point after point, with her teammates at her back. Her feelings _were not_ what mattered in the match.

  Of course, that was before her feelings and volleyball collided in her first year of high school, all because of a whirlwind named Tendou Satori.

  Wakatoshi didn’t believe in nonsensical things like _love at first sight_ , but there really was no other way to describe it―

  And now, temporarily switched off for the libero, her thoughts are getting dangerous. She shakes her head, refocusing her mind on the match. Japan are two sets up, but are four points behind in the third one. _Let me in,_ she thinks. _I need to play._

It’s all Shirabu’s fault, hers and Semi’s. It doesn’t matter so much that they had bought _her_ tickets. It doesn’t matter so much that she’s at one of Wakatoshi’s games. What matters is that this is the _final_ , and they decided to tell her about it, knowing full well that it would throw off her game.

  Tendou Satori is here, in this stadium somewhere, and Wakatoshi _should not_ be thinking about her, about _anything_ concerning what happened March five years ago.

  But without the ball in her hands and her feet inside the lines of the court, she feels herself slip.

 

   _It was sometime during the beginning of their second year in high school. “Wakatoshi, can we talk?” Tendou looked nervous, and Wakatoshi frowned. When was her teammate ever nervous?_

_“Ok. What do you want to talk about, Tendou-san?”_

_For the first time, Tendou blushed. She scratched the back of her neck awkwardly._

_Awkwardly?_

_Just what did she want to say?_

_“Well, there’s this show that I like, and, uh, it’s been over for a year, and so the producers made a film, and the premiere for it is this weekend, at the cinema. I’ve been saving up for a while, and I, um, actually have more than I originally thought…”_

_She trailed off with funny hand gestures. Wakatoshi is no less confused. Her teammate gulps and asks, in a huge rush, “Well-I-was-wondering-if-you-wanted-to-come-along-with-me?”_

_Wakatoshi felt her eyes widen. “Oh, do you mean like a date?”_

_Tendou’s skin was almost the same color as her hair then, an unprecedented phenomenon at the time. “Yeah, I guess. But it doesn’t have to be if that’s too weird, I mean, we’re teammates, we’re just friends_ ― _holy shit, we’re roommates, what’s everyone gonna think? Oh my God, forget it, I know you probably aren’t interested at all, I’ll just leave_ ―”

   _She got up to go, embarrassed, but Wakatoshi grabbed her arm, smiling. “Tendou, I would love to go on a date with you.”_

_“Oh. Um. Yeah. Well, see you at lunch then!” She beamed and ran towards her class, waist-length red hair flying wildly as the bell rang._

_Wakatoshi watched her disappear, a wide grin on her face._

 

  Why hasn’t the libero been switched with her yet?

 

   _Wakatoshi planned the third date, taking Tendou out to a nice teppanyaki restaurant that had just opened recently. They flipped through the menu the waiter had handed them, Tendou musing at the food, Wakatoshi just staring at her face._

_“I’d love to get this shrimp stir-fry, but it looks a little pricey,” she said._

_Wakatoshi laughed. “I told you, I’m paying. I don’t mind the cost, I just want you to have what you want.”_

_Tendou looked at her with a smirk. “Oho, really?”_

_She grinned back. “We’re talking about food, Tendou.”_

_“Well, that aside, I want you to call me Satori.”_

_“We’re talking about food,” she repeated, leaning close, her voice dropping to a whisper, “but the statement still stands,_ Satori _.”_

 _It felt odd on Wakatoshi’s tongue, a word, a name she isn’t used to saying, but she liked it. She liked how a slight flush worked its way onto Tendou’s_ ― _no,_ Satori’s― _face, and thinks that she’s never seen anything, anyone, more beautiful._

_“Anything my girlfriend wants, I’ll give her.”_

 

Her teammates aren’t attacking very well, oddly enough. Wakatoshi looks over at the coach meaningfully, but he is watching the game instead. It looks like she won’t be switched in anytime soon, and she’s starting to feel a hollow sort of throb in her temples. _Oh, Semi, Shirabu, don’t you understand? We broke years ago, and we can’t just be put back together like that._

 

_Because kissing her was like nothing else, all fire and heat and pleasure, their mouths crashing together and fitting just like that, blocking out the world around them._

_It was winter of their second year, cold and biting, and there was nothing warmer than Satori, every inch of her bare skin pressed against Wakatoshi’s, long, long red hair tangled around them both, until neither of them knew where one body ended and the next began._

_Wakatoshi had never seen Satori like this, flushed skin and blown pupils and mouth wide open, sweating and panting and calling her name over and over and over, breathless—_

_And waking up next to her, pressed against her on a cramped single bed that barely fit one of them alone, Satori whispering drowsily that Wakatoshi had been her first. It made her feel just so special, knowing that Satori had never given herself to anyone like she had given to Wakatoshi, that no one else had ever seen her, had had her like she did._

_At the time, she thought that no one else ever would._

 

  China has pulled even farther ahead; they lead the set by seven points and are five points from winning the set, yet her team is focused on defense, refusing to go for attacks. Maybe they are two sets ahead, but that doesn’t mean that they can afford to lose this one. Sometimes, as Wakatoshi has learned, the team who is losing at the beginning is not the team who walks away with the gold.

 

   _She didn’t understand at first how, why, what happened. But it did._

_Shiratorizawa isn’t going to Nationals._

_Her last season, last chance to play a tournament with this team disappeared in an instant, with one awful hit. Those damn first-years, the genius setter and the shrimpy ginger, them and the rest of Karasuno saw to that._

_“I’m Hinata Shouyou, from the concrete. I’m going to beat you and go to Nationals.”_

_Wakatoshi hadn’t believed her, of course. But they had lost anyway._

_After the game, they had to run back to school, punishments awaiting them. One hundred sets for Shirabu, one hundred blocks for Satori, one hundred spikes for herself. She accepted them without complaint._

_It felt like her fault that they hadn’t won._

_Later, their room, Wakatoshi held Satori close as they both cried, away from the eyes of the team._

_“You’re gonna be an amazing player for Japan someday, and you won’t ever lose. But don’t leave me behind, Wakatoshi.”_

_“Never.”_

_“Promise?”_

_“I promise.”_

_“Good.”_

 

  Wakatoshi had kept her promise.

  It wasn’t her who had left.

 

   _They were reading on Satori’s bed, flipping back through her favorite issue of Shōnen Jump. Wakatoshi leaned in to kiss her, when she pushed her away._

_“Wakatoshi, stop.”_

_Wakatoshi frowned, but she did what her girlfriend asked._

_“What is it?”_

_“I— I just don’t think this is gonna work out.”_

_“I’m sorry,_ what _?”_

_“We’re eighteen, Wakatoshi, and got our whole lives ahead of us. And I think, maybe, it’s best if we discover them on our own.”_

_“I—”_

_“I think I love adventure more— more than I love you.” Satori’s voice wavered, but her mouth was set into a firm line, an expression that reads,_ I think you know what I mean, and I don’t want to talk about this anymore _._

_“So, after everything, you’re just going to leave me behind like this?”_

_“If that’s how you see it—”_

_Wakatoshi gulped involuntarily, but she couldn’t possibly change the words that come next._

_“— then yes.”_

_Satori stood up and walked out of the room, leaving her feeling like her entire world had crashed down around her._

 

_They’d had arguments, everyone did, and recently, with the future looming ahead, they had gotten worse. But Wakatoshi had never expected it to break them apart. Even with the trouble picking universities, packing up their rooms, deciding what they wanted to do with their lives, she had always thought Satori would be a part of it._

_Hell, Wakatoshi had never even really thought about it, because she had just taken it as fact, that Satori would be there with her, had never even bothered to assume otherwise._

_She had gotten a volleyball scholarship for a university in the USA, but knowing that it would have conflicted with her and Satori staying together, she was prepared to give it up. She would have given up so much more, just to have Satori back, but Wakatoshi knew that the universe didn’t work that way._

_She supposed that she could go to the United States now._

 

  Wakatoshi growls under her breath at the memory, and a few of her teammates look at her funny. But not a second later, she sees a familiar white uniform running towards her, hand outstretched. She realizes that the position she’s moving into now is wing spiker, exactly where she wants to be.

  She’s been waiting for this.

 

* * *

 

 

  “That was _incredible_ , Ushijima-san!” Yamashita Tomoka, the newest member of the team, exclaims. She reminds Wakatoshi a bit of Karasuno's Hinata, but not unbearably so. “I can’t believe you almost single-handedly scored us a victory! I’m never ever seen anyone hit spikes like yours, they’re just all _pwahhh_ and _whack_ and it’s so, so _cool!_ ”

  The entire team practically mobs her in their congratulations, gold medals bouncing on their chests and glinting in the sunlight. Wakatoshi accepts high fives and hugs, grateful for her teammates, and she’s still in disbelief at her own power.

  After she entered the game, the whole atmosphere had changed. She barely became aware of her surroundings, of the cheering crowds, seeing only net and lines and ball.

  She hit spike after spike, crashing through blocks and sending balls spinning off of recieves, desperate to ignore the images in her mind. In what seemed like no time, the seven point gap was narrowed to a tie, and five hits later, they had won the match. Everyone in the stadium burst out cheering, Wakatoshi’s team jumping on top of her, shouting, laughing, _amazed_.

  The awards presentation passed by fast, and before she knew it, she was outside under a sky that looks like it’s about to rain with her team, preparing to get on their bus to head back to the hotel.

  “Hey, Ushijima, don’t you live nearby?” another teammate, Yaku Morisuke, the reserve libero, asks.

  “Yes, I do. Actually, do you all mind if I go back home before going to the celebration tonight? I used a lot of energy during the match, and I think I would like some rest,” Wakatoshi responds. Yaku nods.

  “Alright, that’s understandable. But don’t forget to come to the party, ok? You _are_ the woman of the match, after all,” the coach adds.

  “I won’t.” God knows she can use some champagne tonight— even after five years, she’s never gotten over Satori, not really, but today’s flashbacks were the worst she’s had in a while.

  The rest of the team piles into the bus. Miyazato Kimie, the team’s second setter, presses a light kiss to Wakatoshi’s cheek, and shoots a wink at her surprised expression as she gets on. “See you tonight, Wakatoshi-chan.”

  The bus drives away, the road it travels on as gray as the clouds above.

  She doesn’t mind so much that Miyazato kissed her, but only one person has ever called her _Wakatoshi-chan_ like that. She finds that she doesn’t like it much.

  “Who was _that_?” quips a voice from behind her, as if her thoughts were realized, and when Wakatoshi turns to see who it is, she drops her bag on her foot.

  “ _Fuck!_ ”

 

  At twenty-three, Satori is even more beautiful than in high school. Her hair, which fell past her hips the last time Wakatoshi had seen her, is shorter now, just above her waist, but it’s as wild and red as ever. She’s dressed in a plain white tank top and a pair of skinny jeans, legs crossed as she leans lazily against the wall of the stadium. There’s only a touch of makeup on her face, but she’s wearing a nervous smile and staring at her through half-lidded eyes.

  What on earth is she doing here?

  “I figured you wouldn’t want to see me, but I couldn’t just ignore that match. At any rate, knowing Semi and Shirabu, they probably told you I was here anyway. So, uh, hi.”

  Wakatoshi gapes at her, still hopping around on one foot. It’s been half a decade, and she still isn’t over what happened, still isn’t over _her_ , and Satori just waltzes back into her life with no explanation and a just a _“hi”_ for greeting.

  “I— _what the hell,_ Tendou?!” she shouts. Satori flinches, whether at the question, or the tone, or the name, she can’t tell. It’s a little satisfying, to be honest. Knowing that Satori still feels guilty, maybe, making her feel guilty about it.

  “I just wanted to congra—”

  “It’s been _five years!_ Five goddamn years, and you’ve never called, never texted, hell, I wouldn’t even know you were still here if it weren’t for our old teammates! And all you can say is _hi?!_ ”

  “I’m really sorry! I thought you wouldn’t want me to talk to you, and that it probably wouldn’t have—”

  “Maybe you did break up with me, but we were friends before that! _Best_ friends! It would’ve been hard for me to talk to you, sure, but it was harder for me thinking that you didn’t even care enough to remember me!” She’s furious, and she doesn’t even really understand where the anger is all coming from, but she knows that she wants Satori to hurt as much as she did, as much as she still does.

  “I don’t want it to be like this! Can we, I dunno, talk about it? I know it’s a bit rich coming from me, and way too late, but we’re adults now, and we know what we’re doing with our lives. So maybe we can sort it out like adults.” Satori looks like she’s about to cry, and Wakatoshi feels a sort of bitter pleasure at it.

  “You _broke my heart_ , Tendou! You fucking _dumped_ me, like I didn’t mean _anything_ to you!”

  “Wakatoshi—” she starts to say, but Wakatoshi cuts her off.

  “It’s _Ushijima_ ,” she snarls. She doesn’t think there’s anything left to say, and her anger is starting to burn out. She knows it’ll just make her feel worse later if she stays any longer.

  Thunder rumbles, not far off.

  Wakatoshi picks up her volleyball bag and starts to walk home, feeling Satori’s hurt gaze burning on her back.

 

* * *

 

 

  The score started to change the moment Wakatoshi had stepped onto the court.

   _13-20, 14-20, 15-20…_

  No one played like she did. No one could possibly change the momentum of a set that fast, that much. Seven points behind, twelve points from winning, yet the gap is still closing.

   _...17-21, 17-22, 18-22, 19-22…_

  It’s the end of the third set, more than halfway through the game. Wakatoshi had been a starter and had gone all-out since the beginning. How she could still play like she always did, how her stamina could hold out, it was—

   _Amazing._

_...23-22, 24-22, 25-22._

   _Match end._

  The entire stadium had exploded with cheers, and on the court, Wakatoshi had been bombarded with attention, her teammates leaping at her one after the other.

  Maybe Satori had just wanted to congratulate her, to let her know that she had seen, to let her know that she had _cared._

Cared? That isn't right.

  _Cares._

  Because Satori still cares.

  Of course, she was a fool to forget that Wakatoshi, who didn’t know, _doesn’t know_ , still did too.

 

  She walks home in the rain.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ennhhhhh

  “Thanks a lot, Semisemi,” Satori whispers into the phone. She feels like she’s crying. She reaches up with her other hand to wipe her eye anyway. Oh. She _is_ crying.

  “Well, how badly did it go?” comes the response. Some punk band blasts in the background. Oddly enough, Semi and Shirabu, polar opposites, have the same taste in music.

  Satori lets out a sniffle. “She _hates_ me! How do I—”

  “Well, then, get over yourself,” Semi interrupts. “I didn’t expect it to go well, and you shouldn’t have either. It’s been a really long time, yunno? And if she still isn’t over it, and you still aren’t over it, than fuck it. Move. On.”

  “What—”

  “Eita, was that really necessary?” comes a new voice; Shirabu’s. The music cuts out suddenly. “Sorry, Tendou-san, I apologize for my girlfriend.” She sighs. “By the way, it wasn’t completely our fault. It was a team intervention, and sure, we suggested it, but there _was_ a vote. Everyone agreed this was the best course of action. Blame Reon for having an intervention in the first place, she’s always been a little too motherly.”

  “...The entire team?” Satori is genuinely confused. She doesn’t know whether to feel angry or thankful or what. But _everyone_?

  Semi snorts, and it crackles through the phone. “Well, I mean, we _are_ all your friends. And we all got the second-hand misery shit from both of you. Which was understandable, mind you, at least at first. But then it was a year, then two years, then five, and y’all still call us all to cry about the fuckin’ breakup when you’re drunk. So we decided to do something about it.”

  “Clearly it wasn’t successful,” Shirabu says softly. “I’m sorry about it.”

  “No, it wasn’t your fault. Wakatoshi was right about a lot of things. I should have called, I should have met up with her.” Satori takes a shaky breath. “I should have actually tried to resolve things instead of running away. I should have known hiding wouldn’t have fixed anything between us. It certainly hasn’t on this end, at least.”

  Semi knows, of course; they’re best friends. But she think it’s Shirabu, who was always closer to Ushijima— Shirabu’s first time seeing the whole picture.

  “But I thought… Tendou, did you—? Do you? _What?_ ” Shirabu is normally the composed one, the most unflappable one of all of them. But Satori has just put a twist in her perspective on this entire thing.

  “Haven’t you guessed?” she speaks softly. “Wakatoshi-chan wasn’t the only one who had her heart broken that day.”

  “ _Wh—?”_

Satori starts crying even harder for some reason, and the other two fall silent, and awkwardly listen.

  “Hey, Satori?” Semi asks, hesitantly. The name sounds oddly comforting in her voice. “Why don’t you come over? It ain’t great to wallow in tragedy on your own, and all. Not healthy.” Her voice picks up in confidence. “And it’s a little bit annoying to listen to you via phone. Well, it’s annoying either way, but if you’re gonna sob at us, at least do it in person. Jesus.”

  “Eita!” Shirabu scolds.

  “No, it’s fine,” Satori responds, a watery smile breaking out on her face. She knows they won’t be able to see it, but she smiles it nonetheless. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.” She hangs up.

  Semi’s always been a little bit too blunt, but she’s real. And sometimes Satori just needs a little bit of reality. She gets up from her chair and heads to the bathroom. “Get over yourself,” she quotes into the mirror, as she wipes her face.

  Satori grabs her coat and car keys and  walks out the door.

 

* * *

 

 

Wakatoshi takes her nineteenth shot of the party, and she’s only been here about three hours. Or maybe longer? She doesn’t know. Her head is spinning a little. That’s good, right?

  She laughs. It’s funny. She feels like there are bubbles in her head, and they keep floating around, like her feet, wandering around the room aimlessly… floaty, floaty.

   _Pop._ She giggles. _Pop. Pop._ She bumps into someone. Wakatoshi feels like she recognizes her, but she can’t quite put a face to the name. Name to the face?

  “You’re really drunk,” the person scowls. Scowling. What a funny word. It really fits the expression. _Scowl_ , haha, the word just sounds like what it is too. Or looks like?

  She glances down at her. A woman, with long black hair and blue eyes, glaring at her. Who was she again? Some important team member… the control tower? Wakatoshi suddenly imagines the woman with radio antennae poking out of her head. It’s ridiculous. She doubles over, laughing hysterically.

  She knows there’s a reason she doesn’t drink often, but what is it? Why doesn’t she let herself be happy every once in a while? Because she isn’t normally happy, is she? She frowns. Why is she normally sad again?

  “Hey, Suna, mind helping me out here? Ushijima’s super hammered, and she should probably get home soon. Have you got any of her friends’ numbers? I can’t drive tonight, sorry,” The other woman calls at someone else. _Kageyama_ , right, that was her name. Official setter of the Japanese National Women’s Volleyball Team.

   _Pop. Pop._

  What a mouthful, she thinks. Mouthful. Why was that a saying? Mouthful. Of what, exactly?

  Another woman walks over, with a bored-looking expression on her face. She looks sleepy. Suna? That’s what Kageyama had called her. Right. Suna Rintarou. What position does she play again?

   _Blocker, middle blocker,_ chants a singsongy voice in Wakatoshi’s head. For some reason, the voice makes her upset. _Blocking isn't a technique to stop the ball. It's a technique to smack down the ball._

Stop. Stop it. She doesn’t like this voice; it seems too familiar. But not in a good way. This isn’t a good voice.

   _What is it that breaks with a crickety-crack? Your heart of course!_

“Ushijima-san, can we call someone to pick you up?” Suna asks. “I think it’s a good idea for you to go home. And, uh, stop drinking.”

  No, no, no, that isn’t the solution. Can’t they see that Wakatoshi _needs_ to drink? She remembers now that the singy voice in her mind has been bothering her the whole time. But if she takes another shot, then it goes away, for a little bit at least.

  She tries to tell them so, but they won’t listen. Suna grabs Wakatoshi’s phone, which for some reason has a disabled password? She scrolls through the contacts, before finally selecting a number.

  “Who is coming?” Wakatoshi mumbles. “Please tell Semi-san I do not wish to see her right now. Also, semi- means _half_ in English, did you know? I wonder if that is the reason for her odd hair. It is half one color and half the other.” She giggles at her own joke. “What do you think?”

  Kageyama squints at her. She remembers that she doesn’t allow herself to become so intoxicated very often, and wonders if she really is acting so strange.

  Because she is happy? And is that strange? Then it shouldn’t be.

  Wakatoshi wants to be happy all the time, but how?

  What makes her so sad anyway?

   _Pop. Pop. Pop._

   _I think I love adventure more— more than I love you._

Oh no, it’s the voice. And it seems louder, somehow, now, more _insistent_ and vibratey and she doesn’t like it at all and she wants another flute of champagne to chase it away with.

  “Kageyama, I want another glass,” she whines.

  The setter glares fiercely at her, and begins to drag her towards the front of the room. Or maybe the back? Wherever it is that the elevators are. “Absolutely not.”

  Suna dials a number, whichever one she decided on anyway, and the phone makes an annoying _rrrrrringggggg_ noise that Wakatoshi hates and it’s loud and grating and it hurts her head—

   _“So, after everything, you’re just going to leave me behind like this?”_

“Stop it!” she shouts suddenly, and a few people stare. “Why are you making me remember these things?”

_“If that’s how you see it—”_

Kageyama tugs harder on her sleeve. Wakatoshi shakes her off. Suna’s call timed out, and she’s redialling, and it’s the _rrrrrrringggggg_ again and it _hurts_. She clamps her hands over her ears fiercely.

_“—then yes.”_

  The person on the other end of the phone picks up.

  “Hello? ...Wakatoshi?”

  It’s the voice.

  How?

  “Hello, is this Semi Eita?”

  “Hang on—”

  “OK.” Suna rushes on, unaffected. “This is Suna Rintarou, one of Ushijima-san’s teammates. We were wondering if you might be able to pick her up? We weren’t able to, uh, keep an eye on her.”

  “Wha—”

  “In our defense, we thought she would be more responsible. She doesn’t usually drink, does she?”

  “I wouldn’t— What happened?”

  Wakatoshi makes a grab at her phone, but Kageyama pulls her back. She growls at her, but the setter retains her grip. She steers her towards the bathrooms. Suna follows, still talking.

  “She’s really out of it,” she snorts. “Like, super crazy drunk. She _did_ drive here in her own car, but she is in no condition to drive back. So Semi-san, please could you pick her up?”

  “I’m not Semi, but I’ll just go ask her, then. Sorry, she’s, um, preoccupied at the moment. Be right back.” Footsteps sounds, as if the person on the other end is walking somewhere. Wakatoshi might not be completely lucid, but she distinctly hears a “ _Fuck_ , don’t stop,” moaned in the background.

  Suna shudders, and Kageyama stifles a laugh. But Wakatoshi feels ill, because she recognizes the voice and she knows that she hates it.

  That’s not right. She hates it? But no, that doesn’t seem right. She hates the voice? No, it’s just the—

  What?

  It makes her feel hurt, is what it does. At some level, at many levels, in many ways. This voice feels like needles in her heart. What happened to her because of it?

  She can’t _remember_ why.

  Just who is this voice?

   _What is it that breaks with a crickety-crack? Your heart of course!_

“No, no, no,” she mumbles. “I’m fine— I can go home, Kageyama, I’m fine, I don’t wanna—”

  “Shut up,” the setter rolls her eyes.

  “Semi says she’s, er, busy. Sorry,” the voice says apologetically. More footsteps, faster this time, as if the person is walking away very quickly.

  Suna frowns. “Oh. OK.” Wakatoshi grins widely, like a little kid. She doesn’t have to go!

  “Wait,” Kageyama makes a motion, and Suna hands her the phone. “Can _you_ pick her up?”

  Silence. _No, no, no, no._ Wakatoshi cannot leave. She will not leave. She will not leave with the owner of this voice that is making her feel so sad and angry and scared and hurt all at once.

  A pause.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” the voice says cautiously, finally.

  No, it isn’t, Wakatoshi agrees.

  “Why not?” Kageyama argues.

  More silence. _No, please no._

She can’t go with the voice. Kageyama has to understand. She turns her gaze on the setter and stares pleadingly. However, Kageyama doesn’t flinch.

  “She doesn’t want to see me—”

  “Why not?”

  “Well… I…” The voice trails off. Kageyama waits. Suna looks vaguely interested for once, and leans closer to the phone. The voice takes a deep breath. “I— I’m Tendou Satori.”

  Tendou Satori.

  That’s right.

  She remembers.

  Wakatoshi snarls like a caged beast and lunges forward. She snatches the phone out of Kageyama’s hands and pushes through her and Suna, towards the exit. She furiously jabs at the _end call_ button and shoves it into her coat, ignoring the calls of her teammates.

  She doesn’t want to leave, but even more, she doesn’t want to leave with Satori.

  So in the elevator, she pulls out her car keys, ready to drive anywhere, everywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i liked this story idea a lot like, six months ago, but idk about it anymore
> 
> i just worked on it a bit when i was bored so here's another chapter i guess? shorter tho

**Author's Note:**

> a few things: i modified the height, if you noticed, bc women are statistically shorter, and apparently -kun as in wakatoshi-kun is used for boys so i changed it to -chan
> 
> i Art™ too in my spare time so if i can figure out how to put my drawings of the characters up then i will (but no promises) (bc i do them by hand not digital art so idk)
> 
> thanks to @saltmaster3 (formerly @Theholyflamingoisdead03), my beta, because i keep forcing her to read my crap and so yeah this one's on you
> 
> also my fren k___ bc she gives me tons of background info and help and it's wonderful thank you


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